To Alter Favour Ever Is To Fear
by chraezanty1317
Summary: "Why am I convinced that she is breaking the rules?" Four times Beatrice recognizes a part of Dauntless in her mother without fully realising it.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Divergent. This features a few OCs, but they are far from being the focus of this story.**

* * *

I'm seven years old.

It's been raining the whole day, which is why no one is outside to aid the factionless. Normally, that would present no obstacle, but when one can hardly see one's own hand when holding it up in front of one's face, it would hardly be smart to set out and go about the routine of everyday life. Blind Abnegation are of no use to those in need, though there is no lack of appreciation at the thought.

I'd be at the playground, skipping rope in hand - I'm sure Caleb would scold me if he knew that I still haven't apologized to May for not giving it to her when she forgot her own - but now I sit on the ground in front of the fireplace.

I hug my knees to my chest and stare at the cold hearth in deep concentration. Susan would probably laugh and bump me with her shoulder, asking if I was trying to light the coals with my mind, but Susan is not there. I rest my chin on my legs.

The door opens as soon as I've recollected a half-remembered melody my mother used to hum while preparing dinner. I turn my head and it's almost like music is forbidden, the creaking of the wooden panel disturbing and disrupting the brief distraction from everyday life.

My mother enters, her steps quick and light, and she looks completely different from when I last saw her. Her hair is disheveled, a mere hint of the firm knot that usually holds it in place remaining. The color is high in her cheeks and her plain, gray robes have been splattered with rain. They cling to her body like a second skin, tight around her midsection and hips. The rain has made them pitch black.

She is fully and completely alive.

"You're all right, aren't you?"

The question strikes me as somewhat strange, as does the way her breath catches in her throat. She almost struggles to get the words out in one go so she can collect herself again.

Has she been running?

Stupid. Why would she have been? Running is something to be done for one's own enjoyment, and is therefore selfish. My father said so.

"Yes." I reply calmly. I tilt my head to the side and watch the way she narrows her eyes the second she catches me staring at her with curiosity.

Then, she smiles. "Come on. How about some tea? It's freezing outside."

Her clothes have dried and the rain has stopped by the time I hear barking.

I don't think much of it - I'm too focused on scrubbing my greasy plate clean - but apparently I'm alone in that.

I only catch a glimpse of my mother as she rushes out of the house. The fiercely determined look in her eyes, her set jaw, her pointed finger indicating that I am not supposed to follow.

The volume of the barking rises continually. A strangled yelp pierces my ears, so that I have to cover them with my hands to drown out the awful noise. I do hear something else, though I cannot pin down what it is, exactly. A dull thud?

I nearly drop my plate when I become aware of Caleb standing right behind me all of a sudden.

"Where have you been?" I ask, making a conscious effort to keep my voice level. I succeed.

"Out." He shrugs carelessly, taking in the kitchen as if searching for something.

He questions me in return - do I know what rabies is? No. I want to tell him that it sounds like food, but I keep my mouth shut.

My brother goes on about how it's a disease and how it comes about, when he stops abruptly and scrutinises my confused expression. I fidget under his gaze - nervous, out of the blue. Another part of me wonders when he learned it in school. I haven't, and I don't like it. Not so much the fact that I have next to no idea about rabies, but just the way him knowing something I don't makes me feel. I hang my head in shame. I should work harder on discarding such selfishness.

He slows his pace. "It's like this. Sleepwalking you do the strangest things. Normally you wouldn't get up in the middle of the night and walk out of your home, right, Beatrice? But it's not like that when you're asleep. That's what's happening to Ino right now. You know, May's terrier that she found abandoned in that alley in the sector of the factionless? He can't wake up."

I nod, feeling numb. Despite every sentence making perfect sense, I cannot quite picture the situation. There is a pounding in the back of my head and I can't shake the feeling that I've forgotten a puzzle piece of the big picture.

My mother returns mere minutes before my father. She immediately steers for the sink to wash her hands, only looking up to greet the two of us with a warm laugh.

My father is tired, glad for the hot supper already waiting on the table. He brushes the fingers of his left hand over my mother's knuckles, sending her a grateful look.

We eat our meal in fairly comfortable silence until my mother remarks, "Thank you for taking care of May. She was devastated, but it had to be done. If you hadn't stopped him-"

Her voice trails off and she is met by my father's confused glance. It lasts only for about a second, blink and you miss it, before he returns her smile and gently squeezes her hand. "Of course." His voice reverberates in the room, reassurance settling in.

I observe Caleb out of the corner of my eye and sigh as I see him bow his head. So I'm right and Ino has been put down. I resolve on making May a present of my skipping rope the next time she comes to the playground.

Today it's my turn with washing up and I don't complain. The silky, warm water rinsing my skin makes for a pleasant sensation.

Nevertheless, it's odd how there are traces of red around the edges of the sink when we were eating mashed potatoes.

* * *

On my ninth birthday, all of Abnegation gather for the initiation ceremony.

The only reason I know the personal significance of this date is the tiny cupcake that has appeared on my pillow overnight, right next to my head. As I reach for it, still blinking sleep and stray strands of my blond curls out of my eyes, I can yet feel the last of its warmth. I inhale deeply, taking in the scent of fresh pastry and am careful not to damage the paper wrapper around it while I peel it off.

Hesitantly, I open my mouth and bite off a crumb. It hardly tastes of anything, last of all sweet. White, fluffy bread rather than cake, but it's still the most delicious thing I have ever eaten in my life.

I can't allow myself to linger in the comfort of my room, however. Without thinking, I stow away my cupcake in the pocket of my robe after quickly getting dressed. I descend the stairs with a spring in my step that I can scarcely contain.

My mother is already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for our family as well as the food for the initiation ceremony - every Abnegation household donates a meal. Other than saving costs, it also binds us closer together as a community.

She walks up to me as soon as I poke my head into the door. I feel her arms around me, pressing me closer to her body. I hug her back and smile.

"You're a big girl now, Beatrice.", she whispers and I can just about see her entering my room on tiptoe after getting up early for the sole purpose to surprise me. I bury my face in her shoulder and wish that one day, I will be able to be like her.

As she releases me, smoothing down my hair and reminding me that I should really tie it into a knot instead of wearing it loose, she goes back to the task at hand in silence. I help her without being asked and the fact that no one acknowledges my birthday for the rest of the day except for Caleb, who grins at me and throws his arm around my shoulders as we leave the house, makes it easier. Makes the pang of guilt in my stomach gradually disappear as I'm continually aware of the weight of the cake in my pocket.

We don't have many initiates this year, but then again, Abnegation rarely has. We welcome back five that were born here and two transfers - a short, red-haired boy from Amity and a tall girl from Dauntless.

I suspect that the former, named Nathaniel, will fit right into our faction. Considerate and obedient, he already seems to have lived among us all his life, even if in reality, it has hardly been a month since he has last seen his family among trees and songs accompanied by a banjo.

Alyssa is different.

Every time my eyes drift in her direction involuntarily, I am struck by the scar across the right side of her face - a clean cut along her cheekbones. On Choosing Day, she still had her nose, ears and tongue pierced, but she threw all the metal away as soon as the first droplets of her blood trickled onto stones. She looks naked without them, a certain edge robbed from her face that I have come to associate with the Dauntless that I occasionally get a glimpse of in school. The violet dye in her hair has been long washed out, leaving the roots a mousy brown and the rest a faded shade that might have been red in a different light.

We don't need to be Candor for her to know what we - more precisely, the vast majority of Abnegation's adult population - think of her. She knew that she would be judged from the very beginning, as soon as she set foot into our part of town.

Reckless. Brutal. Cruel. Inconsiderate. Dauntless.

Yet, she pulled through. I marvel at it, although I have grown up with those who do not quite meet her eyes when they nod at her in greeting - the Abnegation equivalent to a poisonous glare - and would swear to God that they have no more evil intentions than a newborn kitten. They are the most selfless people one could ever wish for and if they do not find it in them to fully accept her now, they will in a matter of hours.

Considering this ís Abnegation, though, it remains remarkable.

When Marcus has finished reading our faction manifesto aloud to a silent crowd (there isn't a child of more than six years that can't recite it at will), I turn my head to load a spoonful of peas unto my plate and pass it on to the person on my left when I realize said person is Alyssa. I freeze momentarily.

Before I have time to think it through I reach deep into my pocket and find that my cupcake has broken in half. Impulsively, I place the untouched half on Alyssa's plate before presenting her with the bowl of peas.

She accepts both and flashes me a grin, revealing slightly crooked teeth. It's a real smile, something imperfect and separate from Abnegation and its modest customs altogether. She must have acquired it in Dauntless. There is a promise of freedom and the wind blowing in your hair that I have never seen before, not in reality, not in another person. I find it in the green eyes of a girl from the faction I have admired for years.

"Thanks."

She leans in close to me so I can count the faint freckles on the bridge of her nose. "Happy birthday, kid." she says with a trace of amusement in her low voice, with the demeanor of someone sharing a grave secret.

I blush and pray no one notices. Hesitantly, I return her smile as best as I can and quickly focus my eyes on my plate. All of a sudden, any appetite I might have had is gone. My stomach is clenched in excitement.

The sound of my mother's voice makes me prick up my ears, my eyes trained on the food in front of my nose at all times.

"What do you miss the most?"

I hear Alyssa laugh and respond (_something unintelligible to my hearing. Zip lining? Hamburgers?),_ but it is like my head has been ducked underwater. I seem a great distance away, all sounds muffled and blending together when in fact, I'm sitting right next to them.

First the cake, then talking to a transfer about her old faction. Why am I convinced that my mother is breaking the rules? There's no reason.

* * *

It's been a month since my ninth birthday.

The last time I saw Alyssa face to face, she was deep in conversation with my mother about the Dauntless. At ease, like she was home.

Today, her face is bloody and her body covered in injuries. My mother tells me they're not deep enough to cause any lasting damage, but why is it that my fingernails are bitten bloody with nerves, then?

Our new members have been assigned to deliver food and clothes to the factionless. Alyssa had the honor of visiting the sector of the city that houses the particularly nasty and sleazy part of that population, those that would rather steal and harm than do the dirty jobs no one else wants to. They are fueled by anger at absolutely everyone, at society itself that allows for the cruelty of minors being left to their own devices, fighting to remain alive.

This is all I work out. I'm left with no choice other than to take it or leave it as no one doubts the whispers behind closed doors. I take it, grasping at straws. I always was too curious.

Hardly anyone volunteers for that specific task, but if an Abnegation is assigned it, he or she does not complain. Alyssa latched unto it at a moment's notice.

"It seemed only logical." Her pale face contorts in a grimace of pain for such a short period of time there is no way I can be sure of my senses. I can see the muscles in her jaw tensing as she grits her teeth, the only witness to her struggle as she continues to impress me. Whatever torments she is suffering, she hides it well.

"I do have years of combat experience to offer, so why not make use of that?", she further elaborates. She closes her eyes as she utters an airy laugh. Dark eyelashes cast shadows over her face.

I hear the doctor has already been called for, but the more I watch the more I feel like Alyssa needs comfort in words more than she does in quantities of healing salve. I retreat to the farthest corner of the living room, where a fire has been ignited and the former Dauntless laid down on our couch.

The logs in the fireplace crackle, as if they're telling a story. Maybe, if I listen hard enough, I can hear it.

"Some habits are hard to cast off."

"Why would you say that?"

Alyssa sighs and it sounds just like the wind wailing outside. "Me walking in there like that was showing off and you know it, Natalie." I should not be so surprised at the familiarity with which she talks to my mother in hushed tones. Abnegation does not believe in a revering form of address - it is self-indulgent and we are, after all, equal to one another.

My mother has no answer to that and keeps her silence. Her nimble fingers sweep over the girl's battered sides, gently applying pressure to certain points. Her brow is slightly furrowed in concentration and for the blink of an eye, I can imagine her as a nurse in Erudite, taking care of people same as she does in reality. I jolt up as a burning log in the fireplace breaks in two, returning me to the present.

Alyssa can't suppress a scream as her hands brush over her lower back. When my mother tries to cut away the piece of cloth detaining her from a proper of the degree of damage, however, her patient clasps her arm frantically. I almost expect to hear a bone break as I observe the way her knuckles whiten, her own arm shaking in exertion and her pleading gaze turned up towards my mother's face.

My mother maintains her icy calm, brushing a stray strand of once-violet hair behind Alyssa's ear and keeping her eyes on the girl's feverish ones, she picks up a knife and swiftly rips into her gray shirt. The coarse material, soaked with sweat and blood, has been tinted black and I wonder if Alyssa is remembering her old faction right now.

The place where a strip of bare skin should be is a mess of raw flesh and ink curling around the curve of a hip. Apart from a lightheaded feeling slowly spreading through my limbs - I'm simply glad not to be sick, prefering the numbness - I finally understand why she wanted to prevent anyone from looking at her back. The tattoo is the last reminder that she was not born in Abnegation. It is nothing that she will ever be able to reverse and take back, invariably binding her to Dauntless.

I like to think I remember catching a hint of a word - alacris? - on her wrist right above the main artery at the initiation ceremony as her sleeve shifted while she received a bowl of peas. This tattoo is different - it's a breathtaking portrait of wolf stretching along her spine all the way up to her shoulder blades, like wings. I bite my tongue, afraid to ask what all of the drawings under her skin signify and scared of watching the atmosphere in the room crumble and turn to dust were I to interrupt.

My mother does not recoil - not from the blood oozing from her body, not from the tattoo.

If I didn't know any better, I would say she was used to the sight. I'm still laughing quietly by the time the doctor turns up.

* * *

I am thirteen years of age.

My skin is sunburnt and colored a raw red, but as a cloud passes over my head, casting its shadow, I shiver with cold.

Last night, a storm ripped through the city, tearing everything in its path to pieces not strong enough to hold.

True to Abnegation, no one has taken a single break over the course of the last four hours, working tirelessly to fix our friends's roof, without complaint. Its tiles have been scattered like glass fragments from a vase thrown to the ground in a senseless fury.

We would be here helping just the same, even if they had not been the ones affected, but the fact that it is their family that has been affected only adds to the feeling of responsibility growing in my chest, expanding as if filling with water after a well-deserved drink on a hot summer day. I don't ask, so there is ultimately no way that I can be certain, but I strongly suspect that my father has taken a day off from work to aid Susan's and Roberts parents as they have clearly no idea what it is they should be doing in this situation.

I wish I could say I do not want to go home and sleep and instead keep my head down lest anyone should catch a glimpse of my expression. Making them think I'm unwilling to lend a helping hand to Susan and her family is the thought farthest from my mind, because I do seek to aid.

It's just that it is so unbearably hot and the sound of classmates laughing at the distant playground is grating in my ears and this feeling that an invisible wall has been set into place, separating me from my fellow facton members; this desperation that once again, my efforts are fruitless. I sigh, careful not to do it loudly. My eyes keep returning to the same spot - the edge of the roof right across the bakery. Stealing a glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is looking in my direction, I scoot over to the rainwater gutter while still a considerable distance away from it - despite my non-existent and shameful work ethic, I had not planned on breaking my neck today.

I can just about see through the window of the shop and peek as Imogen, the baker's wife, routinely kneads and forms loaf after loaf of black bread to be shoved in the oven. Watching the repetitive motion, a calm washes over me - waves of salt water, the tide gently pulling me in and surrounding me like quicksand. I am sinking into a state where I am no longer fully aware of my surroundings until gooseflesh creeps over my arms again, breaking the spell as a shudder goes through my body. I revel in the way the breeze caresses my skin, brushing over its surface with the lightness of a feather.

Since the sun has reappeared from behind Abnegation headquarters the parts of my body not covered by gray clothing have burned me up like fire. I could almost hear the sound of my flesh sizzling, being cooked alive until properly roasted.

I remember the last time I was running a fever, unable to control my limbs and keep them from shaking, my teeth chattering, everything cold to the touch next to the lava in my veins. It helped to lie down and rest, then, but I can't and won't do it now. I'm not sick, I remind myself, I'm fine. Simply spent too much time in the sun.

As I look down over the ledge, my toes just brushing its slippery edge, I feel like I have woken up at long last. Adrenaline surges through my body, burning my veins from the inside like fire. I am electrically charged, energy pulsing through me as I can hear the quickening of my heartbeat. Instead of being afraid, as I suppose I should be, I find myself grinning widely.

All of a sudden, I hear a deafening crack as the metal gutter splits. I lose my footing and for just a second, gravity pulls me toward the ground, too many stories up to allow survival, should I hit the ground. I don't scream - the breath has been knocked out of my lungs and I couldn't gasp for air even if I wanted to.

I close my eyes and yelp as I feel a rough hold on my bare arms. The patches of sunburnt skin could not have felt more painful had someone dipped me in hydrochloric acid.

Very, very slowly, I open my eyes and blink as the sunlight streams into my line of vision again. I inhale deeply and silently count to three. _One_. I tell myself to free myself from my paralisis and shock. _Two._ Somewhere in the distance, blurred shapes that I know to be mine and Susan's family are in turmoil. _Three. _I'm not blinded anymore.

I am met by the level gaze of my mother. She doesn't appear to be scared or shaken. The fingers still gripping my forearm are white with tension and exertion - I briefly wonder if my result for the day will consist of bruises in favor of every single bone in my body broken and shattered to pieces.

She does not utter a single word as she curtly assesses the damage and returns to the task at hand.

I recognize the sheer euphoric glee in her eyes while her gaze wanders over the landscape and view presenting itself to us on a silver platter, here, on the roof, with everyone otherwise blessed with this inexplicably ignoring it. For the first time in my life, I fully understand her. One second of enlightment.

I smile, sunrays illuminating the gray mass of buildings I recognize as my city. They are transformed into castles of a fairytale land, overseeing the wonders of the world.


End file.
